Grief is a landscape as varied and vast as the human heart. It is a personal journey, uniquely shaped by the depth of love and the weight of loss. No two experiences of grief are ever the same, and to compare one person’s mourning to another’s is to misunderstand the sacred, raw vulnerability of sorrow.

When a loved one dies, when a dream crumbles, or when a future we longed for slips through our fingers, grief rushes in like a tide—sometimes calm and bearable, other times overwhelming and fierce. In those difficult days, there are no maps or mile markers to measure progress. There is no metric for grief, no universal timeline, no standard of “enough.” We must give ourselves and others the grace to grieve in their own way, at their own pace.

Yet, how often do we rush to make sense of someone else’s grief? Perhaps their pain stirs discomfort in us, reminding us of our own frailty and fears. In that discomfort, we might minimize their experience, offering platitudes like, “At least they lived a long life,” or “You’ll feel better soon.” Or we might pull away, distancing ourselves from their sorrow because we feel unequipped to hold space for their pain.

But grief doesn’t need to be fixed or solved. It needs to be witnessed.

In the story of Job, his friends sat with him in silence for seven days and nights because his suffering was so great (Job 2:13). It was only when they opened their mouths to offer explanations and judgments that their comfort turned to harm. Sometimes, the best gift we can offer to someone grieving is not words but presence—a quiet companionship that says, I see you. I’m here.

Grieving people often wrestle with questions that have no easy answers: Why did this happen? Where was God? How do I move forward when it feels like part of me is missing? These questions are not for us to resolve, but to honor. Grief is holy ground, and to walk alongside someone in their sorrow requires tenderness and humility.

Romans 12:15 calls us to “weep with those who weep.” This isn’t a call to fix their pain or explain it away, but to enter into their experience with empathy. It asks us to share in their sorrow, to acknowledge the weight of their loss, and to let their tears teach us the depth of love and the reality of human vulnerability.

For those of us grieving, we must remember this truth: Your sorrow is valid. There is no “right” way to grieve, no timeline you must adhere to, no comparison that diminishes your pain. Grief is not a race; it’s a process. It unfolds in its own time, weaving in and out of your days, sometimes retreating to the background and other times crashing back in full force.

It’s okay to feel lost. It’s okay to laugh one day and cry the next. It’s okay to carry your loved one with you in ways that feel meaningful, even if others don’t understand. This is your journey, and God walks with you in every step, holding your broken heart with infinite care.

And for those walking alongside the grieving, remember this: It’s not your job to lighten their load but to walk beside them as they carry it. Speak words of compassion, not comparison. Offer your presence, not pressure to “move on.” Be a safe harbor where they can express their pain without fear of judgment or dismissal.

Grief may be uncomfortable, but it is also sacred. It reminds us of the depth of our love and the fragility of life. It invites us to slow down, to listen, to be present with one another in ways that transcend words.

Let us be a community that honors the sacredness of grief, creating spaces where hearts can heal in their own time. Let us bear one another’s burdens with tenderness and humility, remembering that God is near to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit (Psalm 34:18).

In the end, grief isn’t something to “get over.” It’s a part of us, woven into the fabric of our lives. And while it may never fully go away, it can transform us—deepening our capacity for compassion, teaching us to cherish the moments we have, and drawing us closer to the One who walks with us through every valley.

Amen.